


Bruises

by jargonelle



Category: Misfits
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargonelle/pseuds/jargonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alisha always hides her bruises, but this time she's asked Curtis to help her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Written and set early in series 1.
> 
> Warning for consent issues regarding Alisha's power.

Alisha has bruises.

The easiest to see are the ones on her wrists – guys just can’t grab her hand anymore. The ones on her elbows, the undersides of her arms and her shins, well, they’re her own fault. Jerking away from people instead of working towards them is harder than she thought it would be. Sometimes she’s weak, can’t bring herself to avoid human contact completely and that leaves bruises too, inside and out.

There aren’t any on her face, thank God. Her head got slammed into a wall once in the madness, the back of it’s probably bruised to hell but at least it doesn’t show. If she can’t even feel good for Curtis then she should probably keep up her standards of looking pretty fucking awesome.

~~

They still have wanking sessions, staring deep into each other’s eyes while they bring themselves off. There have been a few careful blowjobs, his jeans pulled down to the top of his thighs, gloves, and banana-flavoured rubber in her mouth. Sometimes, they play doctors and nurses; she sits back in a chair, spreads her legs, and he examines her all over, sterile, cool plastic touches. 

She lies in a bed of borrowed orange jumpsuits, fingering herself while Curtis stands over her. He comes over her breasts and belly, pale, gleaming streaks, which unlike the bruises, wash away. They dress, and then they hug, Alisha stood behind him, her face leaning into the fabric of his back and her hands tucked safe within her sleeves.

“Wish I could hold you, for real,” he says.

~~

She stands in front of the mirror, stark bathroom light overhead, in a bra and shorts. Her make-up sponges and brushes are soaked in concealer and foundation, and she paints over the evidence, makes herself blank and clean and new. She swipes broad strokes of colour around her eyes, darkens her lips, and wears earrings so bold and big that they can distract from the cracks in her skin.

People see marks on her, they get suspicious, or sympathetic, or greedy. 

That just usually leads to more marks.

~~

One Thursday morning, Curtis interrupts the ritual. He picks up a brush and runs the dry bristles over her palm, draws circles and squiggles and hearts on her hand. She shakes her head and makes a fist. He turns his attentions to her arms instead and there they are, the bruises bare and naked. She doesn’t flinch, but he knows her too well by now, has got too close.

“You don’t have to hide them, you know.”

“Of course not,” she says, “but I want to.” 

No wait, that isn’t quite right. 

“I want you to. Our secret.”

He gets to work then, slow and careful, like she’s never seen before. The bruises are replaced by something perfect, something shared. There’s a map all over her body that only Curtis knows how to read. He steals her eyebrow pencil and writes ‘I love you’ on the small of her back.

She smiles and laughs and kisses him through the silk of her scarf, enjoying the moment. 

~~

For best results, reapply daily.


End file.
